SHE KNEW IT, all right. First, by the flashing lights of the parked patrol car, and then by the sight of Alex, chained to the front gate and jeering—there was no other word for it—at the two officers from the restaurant.
Oh, no. Alex, what are you doing?
She felt better once she got close enough to make out what he was saying. It was inflammatory stuff, all right, but nothing personal. He seemed to have them confused with evil land developers, or Santa Anna’s men.
“Hello, officers,” she said. They were wearing dark blue uniforms, unlike the earth tones she usually saw on sheriff’s deputies, and the patrol car said they were county constables. In her travels Lauren had encountered lots of different types of law enforcement. She’d been surprised to learn just how much regional variation there was throughout the United States.
But there were some things all law-enforcement officers had in common—like that effortless authoritative vibe that always made Lauren want to stand up a little straighter and watch her words. These officers had that in spades. They looked guarded and reserved and grim. But just minutes earlier she’d seen the tall bearded one giving out play badges to little kids at the Cocina de Pecarí, and the stocky one with the shaved head had stirred his coffee with a candy cane.
Then she got a good look at Alex.
He was in full historical costume, hat and all, but his neck scarf looked skewed and the buttons weren’t right on his waistcoat. His hair hung loose over his face, and his eyes glared with defiance and alcohol.
She couldn’t see a weapon on him, but the dispatcher had said he was armed. With Alex that could mean anything from a flintlock carbine to a bowie knife, or even the Glock he kept in Rosie’s glove compartment.
Lauren had witnessed a lot of conversations among van people about guns, both online and in person. Many van nomads kept guns for self-defense and refused to travel to states that didn’t allow that. She didn’t keep a gun herself—she doubted she’d be able to keep cool and fire it in an emergency, so she figured she’d be better off without it.
The online conversations tended to get heated, and she’d kept out. But the subject interested her, so she’d paid attention. She knew that Texas was among the freer states regarding the Second Amendment, and she knew Alex was licensed to carry. But she also knew that if he was carrying while drunk, he was in trouble.
Well, it couldn’t be the Escopeta, because the Escopeta was too big to hide. Then she saw a curved gunstock sticking out of his belt. It might be the old defunct pistol Ron had given him for a restoration project.
He’d done a thorough job securing himself to the gate. It looked as if he’d taken a length of heavy chain and wrapped it around his waist, the bar of the gate and one thigh, making multiple passes, and had secured the links at both ends with a big padlock.
Apparently it was a keyed padlock. At least, there was a key hanging from a little stretchy bracelet around Alex’s wrist.
He saw her, and his eyes widened.
“What’re you doing here?” he called. “It’s not enough you rejected me twice and ran my heart through a meat grinder? You gotta come here and rub it in? What’re you gonna do, take pics? Put ’em on your Instagram? ‘This screwup tried to get with me and now the Mexicans are taking him prisoner! Hashtag later, loser!’”
No doubt the officers were confused at being called Mexicans by an obviously Hispanic man. The bearded one’s name tag said Kowalski; the bald one’s said Hendersen.
“Ma’am, do you know this person?” Officer Kowalski asked.
“Yes. He’s, um—he’s a family friend.”
“Family friend!” Alex repeated in a slurred shout. “Ha! Is that what you call it?”
“Alex,” Lauren said. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
“Heck, yeah. These federales are tryna seize my grandfather’s ranch. They already overthrew the Constitution and now they’re trampling property rights. You know what, Lauren? You go ahead and take those pictures and put ’em on Instagram. Hashtag liberty or death! Hashtag you’ll never take me alive! Hashtag you’ll have to rip me limb from limb and crush me with your tyranny bulldozers! Hashtag my blood will feed the revolution!”
The officers’ expressions became a tad grimmer. No doubt they’d just pegged Alex as a conspiracy-minded nutball who wanted to overthrow the federal government.
Alex began to sing. Loudly. About the Alamo.
“Officers,” Lauren said, “this is not what it looks like. This man is a law-abiding, patriotic, community-oriented citizen. He’s not an anarchist. He’s just a Texas history buff who’s had a bad day and too much to drink, and now he has you confused with Santa Anna’s forces.”
“He said we overthrew the Constitution,” said Kowalski.
“He means the Mexican Constitution of 1824.”
Alex’s voice rose as he sang something about a ghostly bugle and a roll call in the sky.
The two officers looked at each other. Then Kowalski said, “Ma’am, of course we’d like to see this situation resolved with a minimum of fuss. But this man is clearly intoxicated. He’s being a public nuisance, distracting motorists. And he’s armed.”
Lauran nodded. “Yes. Yes, I understand. But may I ask, am I correct in thinking he’s on private property right now? And if so, does that make a difference?”
They all looked at Alex, still singing. The gate was in fact set several yards back from the road.
“But whose private property?” asked Officer Kowalski.
“Well...that’s currently being contested,” Lauren said. “The last owner died, and this man is one of the potential heirs.”
“If that’s true,” said Officer Kowalski, “then it would fall to the executor as to how to proceed with any charges against this individual.”
“That sounds like a lot of paperwork,” said Officer Hendersen.
“Not for us,” said Officer Kowalski.
“What if I could get him to leave the premises peaceably with me?” Lauren asked. “Could we maybe let it go?”
Hendersen looked thoughtfully at Alex. “You know, I had an ancestor who died at Goliad,” he said.
Alex broke off his song partway through a line about Santa Anna on his prancing horse, or something. “Wha-a-at? You guys are Texians? How come you’re dressed like federales?”
“They’re spies, sent by General Houston,” Lauren said. “Some of Captain Seguin’s men. They infiltrated Santa Anna’s camp two nights ago and they just made it back. Santa Anna’s bulldozers broke down in the snow and ice. It’ll be weeks before they’re fit to travel again. I’ve got a message for you from headquarters.”
Lauren thought she’d done pretty well on the spur of the moment. Alex looked confused, but at least he didn’t call bull on the whole story. “Wh-what is it?” he said.
She stepped across the metal pipes of the cattle guard, crouched beside him and put her mouth to his ear.
Then she pulled the pistol out of his belt and quickly moved away again.
“Hey!” Alex said indignantly.
She handed the weapon to Officer Hendersen. “I recognize this pistol,” she said. “It’s just a shell. There’s no flint, the firing pin is missing and the frizzen is all worn away.”
She had no idea she’d picked up so much about firearm anatomy. Ron would be proud.
She went back to Alex and took the stretchy key chain off his wrist. “All right, teniente. Let’s get you unbound.”
The padlock opened easily, and the chain fell apart and clanged to the cattle guard. She started disentangling Alex from its links. He’d done a real number on it, all right, securing it over and around himself and through the gate again and again.
“Hey!” he said again.
“Sorry, teniente. We’ve got to get you out of here. You’re needed back at Béxar.”
But Alex wasn’t fooled anymore. “You’re not with Houston. You don’t even live in Texas. You’re from Pennsylvania.”
He spat the word out like an accusation.
Time for a change of tactics.
“Alejandro!” she said. “Oculta tu trasero en la camioneta en este momento!” Get your butt in the van this minute!
He sat up, startled into attention.
“¡Ándale!” she said.
He got unsteadily to his feet and stumbled toward Vincent, muttering something that sounded like “Sí, Abuela.”
Officer Hendersen handed Alex’s pistol back to her, chuckling. “You’ve sure got his number.”
Officer Kowalski still looked grim, but all he said was “Get him home, ma’am, and let him sleep it off.”
“Yes, Officer, I’ll do that. Thank you so much for understanding.”
She turned on the ignition and took off down the road.
She’d never been to Alex’s apartment. She didn’t even know where it was. All she knew about it was that everyone she’d ever heard speak of it, including Alex himself, called it his crappy apartment, so consistently that she thought of it as Alex’s crappy apartment.
Alex was slumped against the passenger window, possibly asleep. He was a big man, and heavy. Lauren imagined parking in his parking lot and wrangling him out of the van and through the front door, under the watchful eyes of his neighbors. Then what? Would she leave him there? Camp out in his crappy living room? Did he even have a living room, or was it an efficiency?
She made a U-turn and drove back to the ranch gate. The patrol car was gone.
I said I’d take him home, and I am. This is his home.
She had a bad moment when she saw that the lock on the gate was a combination one, but when she asked for the combination, Alex rattled off the four digits without hesitation. His birthday, maybe? That would make him twenty-seven, one year younger than Lauren. It made sense. She and Dalia were the same age, and Tony and Dalia graduated the same year, and Alex was Tony’s younger brother. But it shocked her somehow, and made her feel strangely protective of him. He was just a baby.
The combination worked.
She couldn’t tell much about the house by moonlight, except that it was a plain rectangular stone structure with a shrunken, dingy, forlorn look. It had probably been a nice place once.
Lauren found a spot to park, next to what she hoped was a machine shed. She took her flashlight and went in search of a place to plug in, hoping the power was still on. Wonder of wonders, she found a 30/50 amp hookup...and it worked!
Back in the van, Alex hadn’t moved. Lauren undid his seat belt and spun his seat around to face into the van.
Then she stood a moment and stared.
He was out cold, and he was big. How was she going to move him? How should she even begin?
Well, she’d solved boulder problems bigger and more unwieldy than Alex. She could solve him, too. She just needed to find a handhold and get started.
She slid one arm behind his back and took hold of his belt. With the other hand she picked up his arm and draped it over her own shoulder. She laid her cheek against his chest, planted her feet shoulder-width apart and braced herself.
One, two—
“Lauren? That you? What’re you doing here?”
Tears stung her eyes. His voice sounded so groggy and...young. Had he really forgotten everything that had just happened?
She wrestled him out of his seat and hauled him upright. “Come on, stand up. I’m moving you to the back of the van.”
“No, no. Tell me. What’re you doing here? Why’d you come back?”
“Because you were in trouble and you needed help.”
“How’d you know? Did Claudia tell you?”
“Claudia? No, why? What would Claudia tell me?”
He slumped against her, backing her against the van. Her face was pressed against his chest.
“I lost the land, Lauren. The judge is gonna give it to my dad. I tried, I really tried. But I lost. It’s over.”
He was heavy, and a full head taller than she was, and now he was sobbing in her arms like a child.
“Shh, it’s okay. Everything’s going to be fine. Come on, now. You’re going to lie down and sleep for a while. It’s way past your bedtime. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Unbelievably, he let her lead him to the back of the van and take off his jacket. He was none too steady on his feet, but she managed.
“Alejandro, siéntete,” she said.
He sat obediently on the edge of the mattress, and she started to unbutton his waistcoat.
“What’re you doing, woman? Aren’t you even gonna buy me a drink first?”
He sounded so indignant that she could barely keep from laughing.
“Oh, I think you’ve had quite enough to drink for one night. Here, let’s get your arms out. That’s it. Now your shoes.”
Raising one leg made him unsteady, even in a seating position, and he started to fall over on her.
“No, you can’t pass out on me, you’re too big. Lie down on the bed.”
She was surprised by how cool and composed and take-charge she sounded. Alex obeyed without question. She drew off his long black boots—no easy task, with him little better than dead weight—and pulled off his linen stockings. Then she picked up his legs by the ankles and hauled them onto the mattress. His eyes were already shut again, and his breathing was slow and even.
He rolled onto his side and let out a long sigh.
“All righty then,” she said.
She covered Alex with her comforter and turned off all the overhead lights except one, then took a cushion and a chenille throw to the passenger seat and settled in for the night.